In The Mind
by rosieth
Summary: When something bad happens in a dream, but you dont know it's a dream - is it real? Or is it just all in the mind? Warning: contains sexual assault, in dream and reality. M to be safe. Arthur/Eames established relationship.
1. The First Chapter

**_My first fanfic guys, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. Especially on my grammar! Grammar nazis are very welcome here!_**

**_Disclaimer: i own nothing yadayadayada, ok here is chapter one! Oh yeah, later chapters will contain mentions and/or descriptions of sexual assault and rape. Just a warning..._**

Arthur could tell by the look on the mans face that he was enjoying this. It hadn't mattered what Arthur did, he just wasn't strong enough. Nor stupid enough to do anything rash when there was a knife pressed to his face. A knife covered in blood, from the dead janitor who the man had murdered earlier, just for walking in on them.

Arthur could almost hear his heart beating; the adrenaline pumping seemed to echo through his brain. The fight or flight response, so primal, was playing havoc on Arthur's brain. To fight would mean serious injury, possible death. But flight wasn't possible. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to run, but he couldn't. There was nowhere to go and even if there was, he wasn't going to get there. The man was making sure of that. The movement stopped and Arthur thought the man must have finished, that it was over. He was shocked when he saw what was happening.

The man's face was bleeding. He seemed to be utterly confused by this turn of events. Blood, beginning as a trickle pouring down his chin, turning into a flood that poured over his cheek. A huge welt appeared on his forehead, his temple splitting open and red flowing freely from the new wound. The man stumbled backwards as though shot, clutching at his chest. Tearing at his shirt, he ripped it open. A nasty looking wound was already forming, the skin a deep red underneath. Arthur knew exactly what this meant.

It meant that he was dreaming. This wasn't real. It also meant that someone who wasn't in this dream was beating his nightmare attacker. He had a pretty good idea who that was. Grabbing at the knife the man had threatened him with, Arthur held to his own throat. Smiling at the man's shocked expression; Arthur closed his eyes and sliced.

Arthur awoke, gasping as his hands automatically flew up to his throat. No damage done, it was definitely a dream. It used to be hard, killing yourself or letting someone else kill you in a dream. It didn't matter how sure you were it was a dream, how messed up your totem was, how screwed around the physics were. There was always that tiny little bit of lingering doubt that maybe, just maybe, this time you wouldn't wake up because there was nothing to wake up to.

But that was irrelevant, because he had woken up. Woken from the worst nightmare he had ever had in his life. It was with a jolt of horrified realisation that he recognised what the bleeding man had meant. If he could be beaten up outside the dream, it meant he was real. The man had been sharing Arthurs dream. The shocked look on his face as he started bleeding inexplicably, if it had been reality at least, suggested that he did not know it was a dream. He thought it was all real. That meant, that what he had been doing to Arthur in the dream, he had thought was happening in reality. He had been… "Arthur! You're awake darling." That beautifully familiar voice, heavy with concern that only thickened its British accent. Arthur looked up into the tiny blue skies that were Eames eyes.

"You were the janitor." It was meant as a statement, not a question. "Guilty as charged darling. Did he hurt you?" was Eames response. The fear that Arthur had felt in the dream was slightly dissipated as Eames wrapped his arms around the trembling younger man. He caught sight of Eames bruised and bloodied knuckles and realised that Eames had known something was wrong in the dream. The question being posed was really _how badly did he hurt you?_ How could he tell Eames the truth about what had happened in the dreams. Fear and shame begin to overcome him, his eyes began to prickle with heat. Then, for the first time in years, Arthur began to cry.


	2. The Second Chapter

One glance at the now standing Eames. The fear in his eyes was replaced by fury. "I'm going to kill him." He made his seriousness known by walking towards the man. "No." That single word was all it took to stop the British man in his tracks. "Is there any particular reason for the darling? Perhaps you would like to do the honours yourself?" Arthur shook his head. "He hasn't done anything Eames." Eames jaw dropped as he stared incredulously at his friend. "Hasn't done anything? Darling, he raped you." Arthur flinched at the word. He had always found it to be an unpleasant word. Not just because of its meaning, but because it had a horrible, stark harshness. "In a dream." He just couldn't justify murdering someone because of something they did in a dream. Actually, Arthur couldn't justify murdering anybody. He was against the death penalty.

"As far as he knows, it was real. You thought it was real, love. That's what matters. The intent was there. These dreams aren't normal dreams, you know that. You were both there, both aware of each other. Both of you were consciously experiencing it. Whether it happened in the mind or not, that's irrelevant. It felt like it was happening, so how is it any different?" Eames was looking so intently at Arthur, like he was trying to see into his mind. Arthur looked away as his eyes grew hot again. He shouldn't be crying, but the tears began to fall again. They rolled down his cheeks, clinging onto his chin until the weight of salty water grew too much and gravity could overcome the bonds between the molecules. "He hurt you darling. He hurt you badly. The technology he used to do it shouldn't even exist."

Eames was pleading now, begging Arthur to let him punish the man. It was partly guilt that was driving him. Guilt that he had been unable to prevent anything bad from happening to Arthur, that he had let him experience such a horrible crime in such a real way. Arthur knew that, it was how Eames was. But Arthur still couldn't consent to Eames killing someone. Especially not for him. He just wasn't worth it. "Exactly Eames. The technology shouldn't exist. As far as the law is concerned, no crime took place. However, should he try and charge you with assault, the reasons why you would do so are going to come up. He will have to admit to believing he was committing a sexual crime, even if it turned out to be a dream. He isn't going to want that smear on his name." Eames didn't look convinced. "I understand your reasoning darling, but he is just going to hurt someone else. We need to stop him now. We can't give him that chance."

This was all too confusing. That was the problem, with living in a world where one walked in dreams so often that reality could no longer be easily distinguished from a dream. Arthur sat down as the adrenaline surged again. He held out his hands so he could examine them. They were shaking violently, it was quite unnerving. His legs felt like jelly, completely useless. Eames knelt down in front of him, taking Arthur's trembling hands in his own. "I have an idea, love. But I don't think you're going to like it."

Arthur gazed deeply into those brilliant blue eyes that were searching his own. "What is it?" Eames looked away from Arthur's intent stare as though it made him uncomfortable. "We wake him up." Arthur's body went rigid and he jerked backwards, accidentally kicking Eames in his panic. "Sorry darling, I should have said _I_ will wake him up. I'll confront him about what happened, not letting him know it was a dream." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You think he'll believe that?" Eames smiled. "He has no reason not to. He doesn't know he's hooked up to that machine. That we were to try and find out if he was the murderer of that 15 year old boy from Jersey." Arthur was confused. "Wait, you're telling me that dream was supposed to be a job? You knew he'd hurt people? You knew he could be dangerous? Yet you didn't warn me? I don't even remember planning any job."

Eames shifted uncomfortably. "I decided it would be best if you didn't know it was a job. You'd act more naturally." The casual remark annoyed Arthur. "Are you saying my acting isn't very good Eames?" The Brit gave a roughish grin. "Could use a bit of work love." Arthur shook his head playfully, before continuing his questioning. "So this wasn't a conventional job then? Whose dream was it? Couldn't have been yours, it kept going when you were stabbed. If it was mine, it wouldn't have been the right place because I didn't even know it was a job. So whose was it?" Eames didn't need to respond, the look on his face told the whole story.

"His? We were in the _target's_ dream? How did you get that to happen?" Eames shrugged. "Don't know. That was Dom's job. The main point of the job was to see whether the target was capable of serious harm. If he killed you, then following deeper inquiries into him would be a good investment of time." Arthur didn't try to hide his feelings. "Great. So I'd think I was really being murdered. Thanks Eames. What about rape? Did rape factor into the equation?" Eames face looked as though Arthur had just ripped his heart out of his chest. "I'm so sorry about that love, I really am. I was supposed to stop warn you once he had you cornered, to let you know it was a dream, but he killed me before I had the chance. I stuffed it up darling, big time. I hope that in time you can forgive me." Eames' eyes were showing the emotional conflict he was experiencing. Arthur squeezed Eames hands as he looked into those troubled eyes. "I already have."


	3. The Third Chapter

_**AN: sorry this chapter is so short, but this is where I planned on stopping. It didn't feel right when I tried to join this chapter and the next. The next one will be a better length, I promise!**_

Eames drew Arthur into his arms, all those unspoken words, untold feelings, were all put into the embrace. Arthur returned it as best he could. When Eames finally let go, trying to hide the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, Arthur asked him a question. "So you confront him after you wake him up. Then what?" Eames, trying to blink away the tears, responded "I let him confess before I let him attack me." Arthur's face must have been pure shock. "You're right. I don't like that plan. Let's think of one where a suspected murderer doesn't get to hurt you." Eames gave Arthur a look of satisfaction. "I already gave you one. I kill him." Arthur gave Eames a withering glare. "No murder. Really Eames, you are like a child sometimes. Anything for a bit of action."

Eames gave that same grin as before. "Guilty again, love. You know me, a boy with a toy. You know I love my boy toys." Now it was Arthur's turn for a cheeky smile. "Flattering Eames, really." Arthur suddenly became aware of his bodies need to use the toilet. He excused himself before taking the long walk to the bathroom. Why Dom had insisted on putting it at the furthest corner from the main warehouse area was beyond Arthur. It meant the seat was always cold and the window usually had a partial covering of frost on it. He could see his own breath as a small misty cloud when he exhaled. This was one of the harshest American winters on record, the news outlets kept saying. Arthur was tired of the weather being just about the only story deemed worthy of front page by the newspapers, but according to Eames it was nothing compared to talk of the weather in England. _Bloody Brits and their weather. You'd think we actually had seasons over there. _

Arthur smiled to himself. He took his time in the bathroom, soaking in the feeling of being alone. He'd always liked being alone. He used it as time to unwind and recharge, although these days spending time with Eames could achieve the same outcome. It was no wonder Eames felt guilty. He had knowingly sent Arthur on a job, within a suspected criminal's dream, without letting him know it was a dream. The whole job was so ridiculously unconventional it seemed like a dream. Panicking, Arthur reached into his pocket and withdrew the weighted die, his only true link to reality. He rolled it a few times across the sink, satisfying himself with the result. Definitely not dreaming. Glancing at his watch, he realised he had been gone nearly ten minutes. He was surprised Eames hadn't come searching for him. Arthur frowned. Why hadn't Eames come searching for him? There was only one sensible answer to that question. Eames had woken the man up.


	4. The Fourth Chapter

_**AN: This is a longer chapter than any of the previous three. I hope you like it **___

Arthur could hear his feet echoing along the floor. His smartly heeled shoes were making a clicking noise on contact with the concrete. Ten minutes. Surely not much could have happened in that time. But a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that ten minutes was more than enough for something seriously bad to occur. To Eames or the man. Or both. Arthur rounded the corner at full sprint as he heard the distinct sound of a raised voice. It was an American voice. Shit.

"Did you drug me you pommy bastard? You drug me, then beat me up? That's a coward's way. You know what happens to cowards, don't you Brit? They get punished. I'm gonna punish you Brit. You gonna beg me to stop? I was having a nice dream until you went and messed me up. Want me to show you? I'll change a few of the details, but the general idea will be the same." Arthur's feet kept running, but his brain was telling him to stop. The result was that he tripped over just as he reached the door to where Eames and the man were. His head collided heavily with the ground and although he maintained consciousness, the world around him spun. "You see, I have a knife Brit. Do you like it? You've got a pretty little face there, Brit. You don't want me to put some ugly scars on it do you?"

There was a pause in the American's speech, when Eames must have been responding. A scream echoed throughout the warehouse and Arthur had a strong feeling that it belonged to Eames rather than the American. "I've done this before. Usually they're a fair bit younger than you Brit. Probably half your age. Terrified, easy to manipulate. Most of them are good afterwards, you can see they aren't never gonna tell anybody. But there have been a couple who were gonna report me. But I know you aren't going to report me Brit. You'd have to admit you drugged me and assaulted me. That isn't going to happen now, is it?" Arthur slowly inched himself forward until his head was just through the doorway. Eames was kneeling in front of the man, who was holding a knife threateningly at Eames throat. The similarities of what was happening now with what had happened in the dream were terrifying. _The general idea will be the same. _No prizes for guessing what was going to happen next.

Somehow, Arthur had to stop it. This wasn't a dream. It didn't matter what Eames said, Arthur didn't seen how rape in the mind wasn't equal to rape of the body. If he felt so ashamed and traumatised after his dream rape, he didn't want to imagine how a proud man like Eames would feel being sexual assaulted for real. _Think Arthur, think,_ he urged himself. A gun. There was one in here somewhere; Dom had said he had one for emergencies. This definitely qualified as an emergency.

Arthur tried to raise himself off of the ground, but his felt so nauseous that he had to lay down to stop himself from noisily vomiting. He needed to be quiet or else the American would notice he was here. And if the American noticed he was here then he wouldn't be able to help Eames. Arthur couldn't let himself get caught. That meant laying here whilst the nausea passed, and Eames drew closer and closer to becoming a victim, a survivor of rape.

The Americans voice was so loud that it was impossible to filter it out for long. "Here's a little detail I'm changing from my dream. You're going to open your mouth Brit. You're not going to bite, or I'll slice open my own hole to use in that pretty face." Eames face mirrored the utter repulsion Arthur felt from the disgusting comment. Slicing someone's cheek open to enable sexual assault? That was possibly the most disturbing thing Arthur had ever heard in his life. _Come on Arthur, Eames needs you. Get up, find the gun. Shoot this sick bastard. He needs to be taken away from society. Life imprisonment, no key. _

Arthur had to admit, Eames' plan of shooting the American seemed much more reasonable now. "You're right Brit, that isn't a good idea. It's just not as much fun. We'll try something else then, make it like the dream. It was such a good dream after all. Are you going to take your pants off, or am I?" Arthur decided to take off his shoes, which were pointless for sneaking around. How the American had missed the noise of him running across the concrete or falling flat on his face eluded Arthur. Maybe he was just really caught up in the moment. That wasn't a comforting thought in the slightest.

_Gun, _Arthur reminded himself. _Focus on the gun, for Eames._ Arthur slowly began to creep along, behind the towering shelves covered in a vast assortment of bits and pieces. Unfortunately, there was a lot of metal, which was going to make Arthur's job much harder. Harder to spot metal amongst metal, and much noisier to search through. Now that he had entered the room properly, Arthur could hear Eames voice softly, full of hatred. "Why don't you go screw yourself?"

Arthur bit back a cry as Eames scream filled the warehouse. The noise wrenched at Arthur's soul, his heart aching for the older man at the mercy of the sadistic rapist. _And murderer, _the sly voice at the back of Arthur's mind added. Eames face betrayed his agony, blood dripping silently on to the floor from the newly created slash wound. Definitely a sadist, this American was. His satisfied smirk as he watch Eames writhe in pain told the story. The American reached out with one hand, grabbing Eames by the hair, whilst the other placed the knife on the ground, safely within reach. The free hand then grasped one of Eames wrists, pinning it to the ground as the American put all his body weight on top of the blue eyed man. Arthur wanted so desperately to run out and seize the American, to pull him off. That's what Eames would do if the roles were reversed. But Arthur had already been shown that he was no match for the American, that all chance of rescuing Eames would be gone. And so he continued his silent search for the saviour weapon, unable to completely avert his gaze from the horror show unfolding live in front of him.

The American now had Eames pinned by the wrists underneath him and the British man's attempts at maintaining composure were no longer very convincing. He was clearly panicking, wasting energy thrashing about trying to throw the heavier man off. _Remind you of anyone Arthur? _

Tears were threatening again, looming just beyond the horizon. Arthur could see them in Eames eye's too. He wanted to call out, tell him he was here and that he wasn't going to let the American hurt him, but that might be untrue. It would definitely be foolish. _You've been over this Arthur. Find the gun. Find the goddamn gun. Fast. _"You have sexy legs Brit. Anyone ever told you that?" Arthur knew they had, because he had been one of them. "I like legs. I've always been a legs man you know. Yours are some of the nicest I've seen." Eames had started to shake now; his fear was getting the better of him. It was unsettling to watch. A man who prided himself on a level head and an iron heart, falling prey to the unbridled terror that was the psyche of rape.

"Please, please stop." Eames voice was much higher than usual and was quivering unnervingly. Arthur could see the American had somehow managed to keep Eames pinned down with just one hand, the other hand now massaging Eames' thigh, just below the leg band of his exposed briefs. The hand was moving higher; slow enough to be taunting but fast enough to be intimidating. "You begging Brit? I told you I'd make you beg. Didn't think it'd be so soon. Thought you'd hold out longer than that. Not as tough as you make out huh?" The Americans hand was sliding over the briefs now, gripping the waistband and gradually pulling them down. Arthur felt Eames' shame radiating as strongly as though it were heat from a furnace. He knew how it felt, to feel exposed and vulnerable. To know what was now inevitable.

A sickening crack reverberated around the room. The American had punched Eames across the temple. The blow had stunned him, freeing the American to start removing his own pants.

Time was running out. Arthur knew he had a maximum of 60 seconds. Less than a minute to find the gun. The gun! There is was, neatly put away in a box of loose nails. Honestly, Dom had the weirdest organisational system known to man. Or rather not known to man, as no one but Dom had ever figured out what it was. Holding his breath, Arthur reached into the box and drew the gun out. Hopefully it was loaded, because there were no spare bullets anywhere to be seen and he was out of time. The American was tossing his pants over to the side; they weren't going to be needed for a while. Arthur tried to steady his shaking hands as he aimed his gun at the American. _Shoot to wound, not to kill, shoot to wound, not to kill._ Arthur repeated the mantra in his head.

Arthur nearly dropped the gun in shock when the American leaned into Eames and roughly kissed him, the British man trying in vein to scramble out from under him before he could commit that one final act. His lips formed a word, the volume only a whisper indecipherable to Arthur. The American could hear him though and obligingly repeated it. "Arthur? Who's that? Your boyfriend? My name is Jack. Remember that." Arthur was an accurate marksman, he knew from experience. Of course that had all been in a dream, when a mistake meant a failed job or waking up. This could mean the difference between life and death. _Eames is relying on you. He is praying for you to help him. Why do you think the last thing he says before some bastard rapes him is your name?_ Arthur took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.


	5. The Fifth Chapter

_**AN: This is the last chapter i wrote before posting the first chapter. I'm going to keep going, but updates will be slower from now on. I've also managed to hurt my left hand, so typing is slow. Any feedback is much appreciated. Much love, Rose.**_

The roar of the gun echoed around the room. It surprised Arthur just how loud it was. In dreams they had always been somewhat silenced, the echo especially suppressed. Eames had shrieked in terror at the noise, clearly unexpected. Jack crumpled over, crushing Eames beneath his full weight. He'd died instantly when the bullet penetrated his left temple. Arthur dashed over to the hysterical man on the floor, pushing with all his might to free him from the dead weight on top of him. As soon as he was free, Eames rolled violently to the side. This seemed to be an instant calming effect on him, no longer oppressed by his would-be rapist. Now it was Arthur's turn to hold a sobbing Eames, except this time they were both crying. Tears freely flowing down from four eyes, two damp shoulders, two shaking bodies. They lay like that for well over an hour, entwined in a grateful embrace. Neither spoke anything for that whole time. Silence when they finally untangled from each others hold. Silence as Arthur helped Eames bandage up the two knife wounds on his chest and abdomen. Silence when they dug the grave out the back of the warehouse. Silence as they drag the body out and dumped it in the grave. Silence as they buried the man who had caused all of this trauma. For them and for so many others much younger than either man. Silence as they scrubbed the blood off of the warehouse floor. Silence as Eames drove them back to his one bedroom house just out of the city. Silence as they lay down and watch the moon trace a path across the sky, the sun peek its head over the hills in the distance. It wasn't until they finally decided, at 7am that they had to go to sleep, that either of them spoke. Eames voice was soft, tentative, and foreign. "I love you darling." Arthur looked up at him and met his gaze. "I know. I love you too." They lay there in bed for hours, the morning turning into afternoon. Eventually, Eames drifted off to sleep. Arthur couldn't afford the same luxury. For him, the only place where Jack could hurt him was his dream. Right now, he didn't think he could face him. So instead, he played the role of sentry. He watched over Eames as he slept, ensured that nothing bad could touch him. So when Eames began to cry out in his sleep, Arthur gently nudged him awake and held him as he wept. Held him until he felt safe enough to let himself succumb to sleep. But Arthur stayed awake. He wanted the peace of sleep, of not remembering what had happened the day before. But sleep was no longer a peaceful place for him. Sleep was now the place where nightmares could happen.

The pain was excruciating. Arthur had never imagined he could feel pain like this without being shot. Or stabbed. Or some other form of trying to outright kill someone. The hands digging into his thighs hurt, but that was nothing compared to the other pain. It wasn't like this was unfamiliar territory. This was a placed he had mapped out fairly well with Eames. But Eames was always exceedingly gentle and this was anything but gentle. He could hear himself crying out "Stop. Please stop. It hurts. It hurts so badly." But the face staring down at him just smiled. "Why would I stop? It feels so good. Doesn't it feel good for you too?" he was taunting him, so cruelly. Arthur tried to push him of with his hands, but he was too heavy. Arthur had never considered himself to be weak. He worked out on a nearly daily basis, something he prided himself on. His agility and skill as a fighter was something that he regarded highly and he knew it was something Eames liked in him too. How had he ended up here then? Being raped by a stranger in a warehouse. Arthur's eyes were stinging as the tears began to pour down his cheeks, burning as they went. "Eames. Please, help me Eames." The stranger looked confused. "Eames? No, I'm Jack." Jack's face was bleeding. "This is great fun. Maybe I should play with someone new. Look, there is the janitor; maybe I could have some fun with him." Jack got up and walked over to the janitor, who Arthur realised with a jolt of horror, was Eames. Arthur tried to move but his arms and legs felt so heavy. Jack was bleeding heavily now, his face was covered in blood. "I'm going to slice your cheek open Mr Janitor, if you don't open your mouth." Janitor Eames was bleeding now; two gashes on his chest were seeping blood. "Eames, help me." Arthur's feeble voice barely a whisper. "I'm scared Eames, please help me. I'm scared." Jack dissolved into a puddle of blood as the world went black.

Arthur awoke with a start. The dark room let him know it was night now. The glowing digital display on the bedside clock told him it was 8:05pm. Well, he'd had a few hours of sleep, which had taken the edge of the tiredness. "It's just after eight darling." A sleepy voice came from beside him. "Bad dream?" The inevitable query came. Arthur nodded. "You were crying out for me to help you love. It was quite unsettling. I was about to wake you up, to get you out of whatever nightmare you were having." Arthur opened his mouth to speak, hesitating before the words came out. "It was a mash up of my dream and our reality." Eames gave an obvious grimace. "Do you want to talk about it love?" Arthur shook his head. "You were right though. About it being bad even when it's in your head. It felt so real and that's what matters. That's what creates the trauma. He wasn't just a projection, he was real. He was real and I was real." Arthur looked down, fidgeting with his hands. "If he was real, and I was real…that means the rape was real. It happened. The pain and the fear; it was real. The emotions were real, the act was real, I…" he trailed off. "No less real than what happened to me darling. And no more you're fault." Eames reassured him. The British man's voice was laced with guilt. "It wasn't your fault either Eames. I've forgiven you. You need to forgive yourself."

Three days later and both the men were still struggling to come to terms with their ordeal. Arthur refused to leave Eames' side, and though the older man would never admit it, Arthur knew that he was just as afraid. _He is dead_, Arthur reminded himself. _He can only hurt you if you let him into your dreams. _That was the problem. He _had_ hurt Arthur in his dreams. Every time Arthur closed his eyes, Jack was there. So was Eames. In his dreams, blood rained from the sky, a rich pool of ruby coloured liquid flooding the floor. Blood rising rapidly, until it was above his head and he was drowning. Arthur was drowning, Eames was drowning. Eames didn't seem to be sleeping any more peacefully than Arthur. Arthur sat there, watching over Eames as he slept. Wincing with every whimper the older man made. Holding him close when he awoke in a panic. Eames returned the favour when Arthur could no longer fight of the complete exhaustion and fell into terrified dreams filled with showers of blood. When Arthur found himself once again sobbing uncontrollably, after a particularly disturbing dream involving Jack, Eames and a knife he decided that enough was enough. They needed help. It was time to visit Dom.


	6. The Sixth Chapter

**AN: Sorry it took such a long time to update, I hope the next chapter doesn't take as long. Real life can be so demanding **** Enjoy perhaps? I have a good idea of what I want the next chapter to be, so fingers crossed it will come out faster than this one did. Love Rose.**

The sun was beating down on Arthur's face, warming him. He smiled, the kind of smile that only comes from the simple things in life. It was the first time since _that_ day that Arthur had smiled. It didn't escape the notice of his companion. "Nice to see you look so cheery love." Eames' voice floated into Arthur's thoughts. The younger man turned to face the British man. He wanted to say something. Something witty, or intelligent or even just something to continue the conversation. But the words wouldn't come. He hoped Eames would understand. Deep down, Arthur knew he would. They had both suffered, they both continued to suffer.

So when words failed him, Arthur reached out and grabbed the hand of his partner. Eames seemed surprised by the gesture, for Arthur had always maintained a strict policy of no touching in public. "You aren't worried about the looks then?" Eames queried. They were walking through a park, towards the café where Dom had agreed to meet them. A teenage girl was pointing at them, whispering conspiratorially to her friends. "Right now, I'm not worried about anything.' It was a lie. Arthur cared desperately about his public image, even if it was only how he appeared to strangers. But more importantly, Arthur was utterly worried about Eames. _It doesn't matter what those girls think, _Arthur told himself firmly. _You probably won't ever see them again. But Eames is for life._

Arthur even surprised himself when he nestled himself into Eames chest, draping the older mans arm over his shoulder and clasping his hand as though his life depended on it. The move seemed to catch Eames off guard and his arm remained limp for a few seconds. He quickly recovered however, drawing his young lover protectively into his torso. It had been the default setting for the pair over the past few days. Arthur wouldn't admit it to Eames, but he was afraid to be alone. Afraid of falling asleep without Eames there to comfort him when he woke, trembling, in tears. Afraid that if Eames left his side, he might not return. Afraid of what tricks his mind might play on him. Afraid of what he might do to himself. Of course, the reverse held true too. Arthur was terrified that Eames could do if left alone. _Not that you would. Not that he would. _Arthur wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or not. He wasn't really sure what he believed anymore. "Did you invite her along?" Arthur was roused from his thoughts, once again, by Eames. It seemed to be happening a lot lately.Arthur tried to figure out who Eames was referring to.

She was sitting at a table next to Dom, her brown hair swept into a loose bun on the top of her head. Her lips were had a rosy blush to them and her smile lit up her face. Her eyes never left those of the handsome man seated next to her, and her hand rested softly on his forearm. Arthur shook his head. "No, I didn't. I wasn't expecting her to be here at all." He realised he had stopped walking, suddenly hesitant about whether he really wanted to go to Dom. _Don't be stupid Arthur. Dom knows all about what it's like to be haunted by the past every time you close your eyes. _Eames' voice drifted lazily through the air, reassuringly. "It will be fine love." But the grimace on his face betrayed his own inner anxiety. "I don't think I'm ready to talk about it Eames." He didn't specify what it was. The look on Eames' face made it clear that he wasn't sure if he was ready either. "It's not too late to turn away. They will understand." Eames had barely spoken the words when Ariadne stood up from the table, waving her arms at the two apprehensive men.

"Look. She looks so carefree." Arthur commented as he motioned to the excited girl. She was a stark contrast to Dom, whose blue eyes had clouded with concern when he had sighted his friends. His shoulders had dropped and his whole body language had shifted from relaxed to worried. She was calling them; Arthur could hear her voice clearly shouting "Arthur! Eames! Over here! Arthur!" Arthur wanted to smile, to walk over and join the pair at the café table, as though nothing was wrong. But now, it was all seeming like a bad idea. _A café Arthur? A public place? You really thought you would be able to discuss what happened to you, to Eames, in a public place? _An overwhelming urge to run took over him, and he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. People were staring as he sprinted past them, his feet barely touching the ground. He could hear his name being called, the voice sounded like it was Dom. "Come back Arthur. You have to stop. Where are you going?" _Where am I going? _Arthur didn't even know. His brain was conflicted, part of it telling him to run, part of it telling him to stop, part of it telling him he was insane. His feet stopped moving, but his torso kept going and he tumbled into the soft grass beneath him.

Arthur looked behind him, towards the small café on the edge of the park. He had run towards the centre of the park, away from the danger of the roadways. Dom and Ariadne were dashing toward him, but it was Eames who reached him first. The older man knelt next to his fallen companion and scooped him into his arms. "I should have listened to you, when you said you weren't ready. I apologise darling." Eames gently soothed. Arthur could feel himself blushing, feel the eyes of a dozen or so onlookers boring into him. _No need to be ashamed Arthur. _But he couldn't help it. Right now, he wanted to be anywhere but here. He hadn't felt comfortable since the moment he had stepped out in public. Eames had tried to pretend everything was all okay, that he was coping easily, but it was a shallow lie. Dom and Ariadne had reached them, panting slightly from their physical exertion. Ariadne had an expression of utter perplexion on her face, her dark eyebrows knitted together in a bemused frown. Dom had chosen a look that made Arthur feel as though he was being mentally x-rayed. _Whatever you are thinking Dom, you are probably no more than half right. _Arthur hated feeling like he was being studied, but he was despising the judgement that the strangers in the park appeared to be throwing at Eames and himself.

"What the hell is going on?" Ariadne asked, in a tone that was assertive but layered with concern. Eames opened his mouth to speak, but Dom silenced him with a wave of his hand. "I don't think this is the place. We should go somewhere private. How about the warehouse?" Arthur felt Eames' body go rigid at the mention of the location. "No. Definitely not the warehouse." Eames' voice came out slightly raspy and was shaking fractionally. Dom raised an eyebrow but didn't question the British man. "Okay, no warehouse. We can go back to my place if you don't mind having the kids hanging around. I could probably get Miles to look after them for a few hours" Arthur could feel Eames nodding in agreement. "Do you have a car? We walked from my place." Eames inquired. It was Ariadne who responded, "I drove my car. I can get us to Dom's place in less than fifteen."

With Eames' help, Arthur got back to his feet as his panic attack subsided. At least at Dom's house, it was secluded and private. He could take his time without feeling rushed or having to worry that someone would overhear them. _What would the average person think if they heard you rambling on about being sexually assaulted by someone who was sharing your dream?_ Arthur shook himself out of those thoughts. He was so tired. Tired of being afraid. Afraid of what people were thinking, afraid of falling asleep. Eames steered Arthur into the back seat of Ariadne's car before settling in beside him. Arthur rested his head on his lover's shoulder, listening to the sound of Eames' breathing. It wasn't difficult to hear it as each of the cars occupants seemed to have taken a vow of silence. Arthur could feel his eyes drooping, the darkness he had fought so well for the past 96 hours looming at the periphery of his vision. His breathing was becoming shallower and less frequent as his whole body began to relax. _Ten minutes Arthur, that's how long you have until you get to Dom's house. You can let yourself sleep for ten minutes. Just to take the edge of the fatigue._ So that was how Arthur justified letting himself drift of to sleep, his head firmly settled on Eames shoulder.


End file.
